


Whispering Illusions

by Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Eating Disorders, Human!Spock, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:25:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar/pseuds/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"prompt, modern au: There is something strange about his Japanese colleague Spock, Jim thinks. It's not him being all cold and unemotional like a brick wall or winning every verbal fight with Jim in his unique sarcastic-as-hell way, there's something different, which rubs Jim the wrong way. Sometimes Spock looks almost afraid, and he wears only long-sleeved shirts, even it's so hot that's Jim is melting. He looks lonely. So one day Jim invites him to a night out with his friend Bones and himself."</p><p>Written from a prompt on tumblr and expanded into a multi-chapter fic. Trigger warnings for eating disorders and severe self-esteem problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt by thelittledarkcat.tumblr.com :)

Spock fumbled with his phone. He would check his emails, his messages, his voice mail. But there was nothing new. Dr. McCoy, the man who always claimed that love at first sight was a dumb fairy tale, found it oddly endearing. He didn’t know why he enjoyed the shy, awkward man but he did very much. 

"So how long have you and Jim worked together?" he asked easily, taking a sip of his beer.

Spock looked up at him, putting his phone down. “Five years.”

McCoy smirked. “I’m sorry. He’s a real pain in the ass. Usually people can’t stand being in the same room for five minutes let alone work with him for five years.”

"Hey!"

McCoy turned around to see Jim, right behind and carrying his and Spock’s drinks. He handed the glass of wine over and kept the beer for himself.

"I am not that bad," Jim says. "I’ve been told by many people that I’m a joy."

McCoy rolled his eyes. 

"I do find him to be rather nerve-wracking at times," Spock said.

"See. When quiet people agree that you’re annoying, you know you have to be bad," McCoy pushed his empty beer-bottle aside. 

"Spock? Quiet?" Jim scoffed. "He’s just shy right now because he likes you."

"Jim!"

"No, he really does. He’s into doctors."

McCoy leaned slightly over the table towards Spock. “Really?”

"His last boyfriend was a doctor."

"Jim," Spock interrupted. "I can speak for myself." 

"And what do you have to say?" McCoy asked.

Spock held his head up with confidence. “I do not date men I barely know.”

"Then let me get to know you."

McCoy scribbled his phone number down on the corner of a napkin. Spock took it with steady hands though he was practically having a meltdown on the inside. He drained his glass of wine. 

* * *

"That was smooth," Jim said later that night as they walked to McCoy’s apartment.

McCoy shrugged. 

"I haven’t seen you charm someone like that in years."

"You don’t go on all my dates."

"Ok, one - you haven’t had a date in years and two - I’m always there on the dates that go well. I’m like a good luck charm."

"You’re the least lucky person I’ve met. You’re clumsy and can’t control your mouth 90% of the time."

Jim laughed. “Fine. But does this mean Leonard McCoy is back on the market?”

"Maybe… for one person in particular."

Jim let a whoop of triumph. “I’ll tell him that you two have a date this weekend. How’s a movie sound?”

"Jim -"

"He’ll be so excited! I mean, you won’t be able to tell but he’ll be glowing on the inside."

"Let me call him myself and make plans. I’m on call this weekend. I don’t know want anything to be concrete."

"Ok. You call him. You dial his phone number and call him."

McCoy stared at him, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth.

"Oh!" Jim exclaimed sarcastically. "You didn’t get his phone number, did you? No. You just wrote yours on a dirty napkin like we were in some 90s teen movie."

"Just give me his number, Jim."

"Later. You’ll seem desperate."

* * *

Jim laid his empty beer bottle on the coffee table, running a hand through his hair. Spock finally seemed to have opened up that night. He actually looked like he was enjoying himself and being in other’s company. It was a small step but good enough for now.

"We just got back from a bar. Why are you drinking?"

Jim was pulled from his thoughts. The doctor leaned against the doorway to the small apartment’s living room. His hair was wet and messy. He wore sweatpants that barely clung to his hips and a shirt that was old and frail.

"I only had one beer tonight," Jim said.

McCoy sighed. “Why are you even here still? I thought you left.”

"Nope."

"You just sat here drinking my beer while I showered."

"Aw… Bones, you know I like your sexy after-shower look."

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”

Jim shook his head. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

McCoy sat down next to Jim, resting his arms on his legs. “What?”

"Does Spock act… weird to you?"

"Compared to who?"

"No one. He doesn’t strike you as someone who’s trying to hide something?"

"Are you trying to tell me he’s a spy out to get me?"

"No, Bones. Be serious for a second. As a doctor, what do you think of his behavior?"

"He’s just shy, Jim."

"But it was 69 degrees out and he was wearing a jacket. And he’s a lot more than just shy. Didn’t you notice him dodging questions?"

"So he may have some anxiety or self-esteem problems."

Jim sighed and leaned back into the couch. 

"Are you really worried something is wrong with him?"

"It’s not like he’s always been like this, Bones. He used to be a little more outgoing - not a whole lot - but he at least didn’t wear sweaters and coats all the time."

"Is that why you wanted me to meet him?"

"No…I wanted him to get out and meet some people but it’s been bothering me for a while."

McCoy patted Jim’s knee. “Jim Kirk. The humanitarian.”

Jim crossed him arms across his chest. “I don’t know what to do.”

"Just keep an eye on him. Invite him out more. Try to get him out of his shell and see if he opens up. It could be nothing."

Jim nodded but he knew that it wasn’t nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

McCoy hadn’t really dated since the divorce.

Which was two years ago.

Jim had tried setting him up several times but they never worked out. All the girls and guys were lovely but they were never… right. At McCoy’s age, he wanted a serious relationship and he couldn’t have one with someone who had separate political views, or a habit he didn’t like, or had nothing in common with him. After one divorce, he didn’t want to “make things work” any longer. He didn’t want to make compromises or ignore anything when there could be someone else who was, in essence, perfect for him.

Jim called him crazy. McCoy claimed it was practical enough.

When Friday night came, and McCoy was expecting to go out drinking with Jim, there was a sudden change of plans.

“Give him a chance, Bones! You’ll love Spock!”

 McCoy didn’t want to give anymore of Jim’s friends a chance but the whining persisted and he had to agree.

 That Saturday, he couldn’t wait to pry Spock’s phone number away from Jim.

* * *

 Jim watched excitedly as McCoy paced from the table to the counter and back again. He was practically burning a hole in Jim’s kitchen floor. Finally, after McCoy gripped the back of his hair tightly for a long minute, he walked back to the table with a blush forming on his cheeks and a goodbye exiting his mouth.

 “Think he’s  _the one_?” Jim teased.

 McCoy hung up his phone, a smile resting faintly on his lips. Jim, realizing he had not been heard, smacked him lightly on the arm.

 “What?” McCoy asked, the well-known scowl finding its home again on his face.

 “You have a  _date_ , Bones! An actual date!” Jim cooed.

 “Yeah, and I don’t want you to be involved in it in anyway.”

 “What?” Jim raised a hand to his heart. “Bones, I’m hurt. You and Spock are both my friends and I just want you two to be happy together.”

 “You’re the only person that is comfortable third wheeling.”

 “I just like looking out for my friends.”

 “Well, you’re staying away Saturday night. I’m not sure if I’m going to be at the hospital or not.”

 “You know,” Jim said, leaning forward in his chair. “I think you want to be called in this weekend.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “You’re nervous. It’s been a while since you’ve been on a date and you really like Spock… you’re getting cold feet.”

 “I am not. I’m worried about my patients. If they need me -”

 “What are the chances they’ll need you for two specific hours on Saturday night?”

 “It’s happened before.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes! Now shut up about this!”

 Jim smirked victoriously, feeling as though he had won a battle for no particular reason.

* * *

 Spock scrutinized over his appearance. He stood in front of his mirror, staring distastefully at the extra weight on his hips. His hips were his biggest concern. They were cumbersome and thick and made him pear-shaped. All of the weight he gained always went there first and never came back off.

 The time caught his attention and Spock quickly got dressed, pulling a thick sweater on over his shirt. He sat patiently on his sofa, caught in the suspense of his book. When he heard a rough knock on the door right as the protagonist was in the middle of her monologue, he jumped straight to his feet. The book laid forgotten on the couch.

 Spock remembered to be calm, erasing the enthusiasm present on his face. He opened the door. The excitement inside him vanished.

 Jim smiled apologetically.

 “Bones is sorry.”

 Spock looked down. “I am sure he is.”

 “There was an emergency at the hospital,” Jim explained. “But he bought you this.”

 Jim held up a bottle of wine, smiling as it seemed to peaked Spock’s interest.

 “What kind is it?”

 “Um… red*.”

 Spock raised an eyebrow. “You may have it.”

 Jim shrugged. Honestly, McCoy was in such a rush to get to the hospital, he didn’t even have time to call Spock, let alone buy a bottle of wine. He pushed Jim out of his apartment and told him to pass the message on to Spock. Jim owed McCoy 40 dollars from a few weeks ago and figured the bottle would make up for the debt.

 Spock turned around, headed back to the sofa. Jim followed him in. He sat down next to Spock and pulled the cork off the bottle.

 “Do you require a glass?” Spock asked.

 “No,” Jim said, taking a swig straight from the bottle. “He really is sorry, though.”

 “I do not doubt you.” Spock opened his book.

 Jim watched him curl up almost defensively.

 “Are you alright?”

 “Why would I not be?” The way Spock said it sounded clipped and he did not look up. It reminded Jim of getting in trouble with his mother when he was younger - well, and now, too. Passive-aggression always hit the hardest.

 “‘Cause your date cancelled your plans and didn’t even call you himself.”

 “Doctor McCoy is very busy. He made it clear that there was no guarantee for tonight.”

 “Still could have called you,” Jim mumbled, bringing the bottle back up to his lips.

 Spock tried returning his attention back to his book. He could hear the swishing of wine in the bottle and Jim’s insistent tapping on the arm of the couch. How one man could be so annoying and yet attract so many people into a friendship, Spock never knew.

 Even ignoring Jim did not help him focus on the book, though. Thoughts and questions of self-hatred ran through his mind. One right after the other. He knew that McCoy really had been busy that night and the excuse was legitimate. However, another part of Spock believed it all to be a lie. Perhaps he really did not like Spock. Perhaps he found him repulsive and promised him the date only out of pity before ultimately deciding that there was no way he could go through with spending the evening with him.

 Spock attempted to push those thoughts down and focus on the page he had been staring at for 20 minutes. Jim continued tapping and the wine continued swishing.

 “Ok,” Jim said after half an hour. “But are you  _really_  alright?”

 “Jim, I have already said I have no reason not to be.”

 “No, no.” Spock held back a sigh. Jim was already on his way to becoming drunk. “Are you alright? Like…  _alright_ alright?”

 “I fail to understand.”

 “Just in general - if something were wrong, would you tell me?”

 Jim’s eyes were pleading. The blue seemed to leak sorrow and pity. Spock was stunned, feeling his heart drop.

 “Yes.”

 “Give me your word.”

 “I give you my word.”

 “Good.”

 Spock watched him for a minute more, growing uncomfortable the longer Jim sat there. “I will call you a cab,” he offered.

 “I can do it,” Jim said, setting the wine down on the endtable. “Enjoy your night.”

 Spock waited to hear footsteps descending the stairs in the apartment’s hallway before rushing to the bathroom. He rummaged through his cabinets until he found the hidden laxatives in the very back, holding deceitful promise.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Red wine slows the metabolism and is believed to be more fattening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter but it was sitting on my computer and felt it needed to be posted after such a long wait instead of having another 500 words tacked on to it.

“If you wanted to see him, you should have called.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I know -”

“You could have called anytime. Maybe in the same week you broke off the date.”

“I get it. I was an asshole and Spock deserved better than that. But I want to try make it up to him; at least explain myself.”

Jim glared before turning back to his whiteboard, various equations scribbled on it in different colored markers. Some were written in Spock’s neat, even handwriting. Others were written in Jim’s quick scrawl. None of them looked connected. It looked as though they were fighting to see how many equations they could each write. It captured Jim’s attention, though, and McCoy had no idea what it was all for. Physics was nothing new to him but Jim and Spock’s minds together, he never dared to touch.

“You’ll have to find somewhere else to talk to him,” Jim said over his shoulder.

“So is he not here at all?” he asked, growing impatient.

“He was in for a little bit this morning,” Jim said. “He was sick, though. So I’m not sure how he’ll be if you go to his apartment.”

McCoy crossed his arms. “Is it even worth going there?”

Jim shrugged. “It’s your call. If you think avoiding him any longer is a good choice, by all means…”

McCoy made his way to the door. “I’ll go see him.”

Jim didn’t say anything as he left.

* * *

 Spock answered the door in sweatpants. McCoy fought a smile. He had always heard how neat Spock was. How he would never be seen out of his dress pants and a sweater (which was endearing, considering they were baggy on him) and didn’t believe in casual dress.

"Hi," McCoy said.

"Hello," Spock said, tilting his head. "I do not intend to sound rude but why are you here?"

"Jim said you weren't feeling well and I decided to drop by."

"At 12 in the afternoon?"

"I'm not working today. I thought now was a good time to talk... And explain myself."

Spock nodded. He opened the door farther and stepped aside, letting McCoy in.

The apartment was cute. Modest and comfortable, McCoy thought, walking into the sitting room and past the adjoined kitchen.

“Listen, I’m sorry about last Saturday. I was -”

“On call. You had an emergency. I understand.”

McCoy followed him to the couch. Spock furrowed his eyebrows as he sat, placing his hand on his stomach. He curled his legs up and hunched forward.

“What’s bothering you?” McCoy asked, his concern triggering his medical instincts.

Spock took a deep breath. “It is merely cramps. I will be well in a day.”

He buried his hands in the sleeves of his sweatshirt and curled his arms around his torso.

“Are you sure?” McCoy resisted the urge to put his hand to Spock’s forehead, to fully examine him in a tender way. Like a mother caring for their child (or a boyfriend caring for their boyfriend). “Any other symptoms?”

“No. Doctor, I assure you it is nothing.”

“‘ _Doctor_?’. Come on Spock, you don’t have to be so formal. You can call me Leonard.”

“No one addresses you by your first name - not even Jim. I should not have the privilege.”

“First off, Jim just hates my name. He gave a nickname the first day we met. And why wouldn’t you be privileged? I’m going to take you out this weekend, aren’t I?”

Spock stared. His stomach curled. “Are you?”

McCoy smirked. “Only if you’re feeling up to it. I’m not on call and need to make last week up to you. Same plans, same time?”

Spock nodded. “That would be… “

“Acceptable?”

“Nice. Very nice.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what this is. I'm just having a tough night I guess and had to write something to get out some frustration. Filler.

Spock didn’t cry.

He never did. Since he was old enough to know that weakness should never be revealed, he held in his emotions -- especially in front of his father, whose strict ways never allowed him any comfort in his own person.

Instead, he waited until he was alone. When no one could see him break down, he let everything out in trembles and desperate attempts to take in breaths. Pain attacked his head, heart, limbs that wouldn’t listen to his mind _and just stop shaking_ , and it wouldn’t go away. His lungs would surely explode some night, or his throat would collapse with the force of his gasps. It was if his body was shutting down, rebelling against his mind, screaming at him to give up.

It’s not worth it.

It’ll never be worth it.

Just give up.

Give up.

_Give up._

Spock grabbed his hair in tight fistfulls. His body continued to remind him that it hated every fiber of its own being and would not stop until he felt the same.

Nothing would ever work out like how it was supposed to.

Fate didn’t exist. There was no set plan.

Everything depended on him not screwing up.

He had to be perfect.

It was sickening how similar it all sounded to what his father told him -- what his father implied when he warned him about the dangers of failure.

His stomach cramped and he grew cold with nausea. He shivered. He curled up in a ball. He held back the bile rising in his throat. The thoughts continued attacking him. His body hated him and he hated it for being so weak and protesting what his mind told it.

_Just stop! Stop! Stop!_

He laid awake for hours, trying to calm his heart that felt it wanted escape just as much as he did. He grabbed his bedsheets in vain to ground himself and buried his head in between pillows to muffle any sounds that escaped past his lips without his consent. What a useless body. He tucked his knees under his chest, letting go of the sheets for a moment to tear at his body. His useless body. His useless body that could never obey and always fell ill with these attacks. He ran to the bathroom to quietly throw up when it spiked. He took a cold shower to try to numb himself. He shivered from the water. He shivered from the black tendrils that wrapped their way around his mind.

But, he never cried.

_That_ was the one thing his body saved him from.


End file.
